


The End of Summer

by ingridmatthews



Category: O.C.
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingridmatthews/pseuds/ingridmatthews





	The End of Summer

When Seth Cohen garners up the courage to navigate the world -- which isn't all that often, at least not by his parents' outgoing standards -- he does so lightly, hugging the walls of life as he tiptoes past the furor, trying very hard not to get into any trouble or worse, have everyone look at him like he's the biggest, dumbest, most pathetic geek who's ever lived on this planet and beyond. He tries his best to fade into the woodwork, speak when spoken to and if that fails, he wills himself to melt into the scenery like the socially-inept chameleon he is.

It rarely, if ever, works.

Summer, the girl of his well-organized dreams (Seth refuses to have dreams that haven't been approved and signed off on by his conscious mind) loathes him with a hatred peculiar to girls who would stop to laugh at a car accident but wouldn't spare him a glance unless he were in the mangled car, broken limbs twisted in amusingly gruesome ways.

The optimistic part of Seth thinks he can change her, thinks there's a sweet girl hidden beneath that veneer of total bitchery. That he can save her from herself and they'll live in a happily-ever-after populated with honest laughter and lots and lots of sex.

Because Summer will still be slutty, even when he turns her good.

It's a nice fantasy, an _appropriate_ fantasy, but what else does Seth know?

He also knows that Ryan thinks he's crazy. And maybe not only about Summer.

Ryan doesn't like Summer. This was finally made loud and clear when he muttered "bitch" under his breath after she'd called Seth "stupid queer" for the fifth time, bringing the total number of words she'd said to Seth up to a whopping fifteen.

This shouldn't make him happy, but it does. Not only because Ryan won't ever try to steal Summer, but because ...

Summer will never be with Ryan.

It's a win-win situation and Seth has to play a long round of video games to distract himself from the implications of that thought.

Not the Ryan with Summer thought -- that will never happen because Ryan hates Summer and likes Seth -- but the Summer with Ryan part, which strikes him as a wrong of a monumental sort. Summer kissing Ryan, her pink tongue running along his lips, him looking satisfied at her touch, going everywhere with her and leaving Seth behind. Alone. Forgotten.

Seth keeps playing the game, barely paying it any attention to it. The controls are battered into submission and Seth shakes his head, laughing weakly to himself.

See, Ryan isn't going to leave Seth for Summer, because Ryan hates Summer and likes Seth.

And Seth likes Ryan.

And that's... good. Everything's the way it should be. The situation works, completely, and the "game over" sign flashes on the T.V. screen far too soon.

Seth throws down the controls, breathing hard. It's a challenging game, that's all and he's not hyperventilating because he's just had a very important revelation about how much it means to him that Ryan likes him, and not just for the sake of Ryan being Summer-less.

His hands aren't shaking because he's having daydreams about what Ryan might look like when he's kissing someone, about how he'd look if he were really, truly happy, made that way by someone who loves him. Someone who loves him like Seth does, both of them happy and in love, laughing all the time and of course, there would be lots and lots of sex.

Because Ryan will still be sexy, even after Seth's made him happy.

Wait a minute.

Oh, shit.

Did he just think that?

Seth clutches his head. The boundaries he's so carefully set up for himself are rapidly disappearing. The navigational tools he's used for his entire life are failing, a topsy-turvy compass of will now points due south, biologically as well as emotionally if the ache between his legs at the thought of Ryan -- Ryan _with_ him -- is any indication.

Oh, Christ. Maybe he should go to his room and dig up his Robbie the Robot action figure and make it say _"this does not compute"_ over and over again.

Maybe he'll watch some Star Trek on DVD. Spock, he always has the answers, even if it's painfully clear he was in love with Captain Kirk the whole time and ...

"Fuck!" Seth cries, leaping to his feet.

An answering voice in the doorway and Seth finds it hard to draw a solid breath. "Hey, Seth. Are you okay?"

Seth spins around. It's Ryan. Looking every inch the unsanctioned daydream even in a thin white t-shirt (just a little tight around the arms because Ryan has these incredible arms that Seth _hasn't_ been looking at) and too-baggy jeans.

Breathing hard, Seth stuffs his hands in his pockets and misses. Because he's forgotten the pants he's wearing don't have pockets.

"Oh, yeah," he says, too loudly and too fast. "I just lost. You know ... the video game. I lost it big time. Always pisses me off, that ... losing."

Ryan blinks, but only asks: "Who beat you?"

"I beat me," Seth stutters as Ryan keeps looking at him, steadily. Not mocking, not calling him a brainless dweebed-out dick, just ... looking.

Still, that won't last if Seth doesn't think and think fast. "My high score. I beat my high score."

One eyebrow goes up. Ryan's lips are twisting this way and that, until finally ...

"You're crazy, you know that?"

Seth sighs in defeat. The truth is out there. "I know."

There, he's admitted it. Game over, but Ryan still isn't making fun of him even if his eyes are twinkling and he looks as if he's holding back a really long laugh. Such beautiful eyes too, especially when he's amused.

It looks sort of like happiness and suddenly Seth doesn't think he'll die if Ryan laughs at him.

But Ryan doesn't laugh, not out loud anyway. Instead, he plops down on the couch and yawns like a cat, all sleepy-eyed and content. "What are we doing tonight? There's a party at the shore again, at ten. " A pause. "Summer will be there."

Ah, the magic words. Those will fix everything.

Seth beams and waits for his usual Pavlovian reaction to them, as reliable as Old Faithful. That gushing geyser of hopeful anticipation followed by shivery excitement, topped off with a giant cherry of crushing anxiety. It's something he's used to, something he's always known, so Seth waits ... and waits ... and ...

It never comes.

Confused, Seth shakes his head and tries for another go at it. "Who's going?"

Ryan, who's never looked so shocked, repeats himself, slowly. "I said, Summer is going to be there."

Seth nods, letting it sink in. He's hearing the words, he's understanding the words and still ... nothing.

Not a quiver or a shiver or even a hint of pounding heart at the mention of her name. No internal reaction at all to the knowledge that he might have close proximity to Summer in exactly five hours and twenty-four minutes and eighteen seconds.

This, as Robbie the Robot might say, does not compute.

But it doesn't feel so bad either.

In fact, it's positively freeing. Because a large part of Seth's conscious mind is still flailing helplessly in the grip of passion, but this time, in the best, most hopeful, of ways. It has something to do with the sight of Ryan sprawled out over the couch, tawny head resting peacefully against the throw pillows, his eyes trained curiously on Seth as if it really, _really_ matters what he might say next.

As if _Seth_ matters and that's more exhilarating than a thousand breezy Summer put-downs.

Possibly a million of them.

"You wanna stay in tonight?" Seth blurts out, already kicking himself before the words have left his mouth. Why the hell would Ryan want to stay in? He's got it good in Seth's house, a sweet roof complete with a free invite to all the best parties, a cushy bed to crash in and all the pretty girls he could possibly handle and ...

"Sounds good to me," Ryan replies, his focus on Seth suddenly so intent -- so joyous -- Seth can feel the blush all the way to his toes. "We can watch some T.V. or do ... something. You choose. Whatever you want."

A casual shrug, but Ryan is looking at Seth as if he's won the lottery. Seth has to turn his head, just in case he gives everything he's feeling away, but his conscious mind is tapping him on the shoulder telling him in the softest, sweetest inner voice possible that the gig is up.

Ryan knows. And it's okay.

Oh, God. He needs to sit down. Sit down next to Ryan and try not to stare too hard at the brilliant smile being shone his way.

"Yeah, we'll do ... something." Seth's voice ... his hands are shaking, but that doesn't matter when Ryan brushes his knuckles across Seth's fingers, then leans in to kiss him.

It's a friendly kiss, really, but Seth knows what they'll be doing tonight and T.V. will have nothing to do with it.

The anticipation burns, like sweet fire. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, Seth's going down to the marina to pull the catamaran up out of the water and onto the sand.

He'll have a can of white paint with him, something from the garage and a brush, a big, fat, wide one so he can make short work of erasing the name"Summer Breeze" from his sailboat ... and his life.

The winds around his heart are changing, the days are getting shorter and Seth's new life is starting, right now. A new life with laughter and joy and lots and lots of love. Finally he'll know what true warmth is, leaving the bleak cold of the past behind.

It's the end of Summer.

~*~

fin


End file.
